


Was It Not Obvious?

by kickassfu



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, it's based on an incorrect magicians quote, it's sorta cracky? idk, s01 canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18863503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickassfu/pseuds/kickassfu
Summary: Well, that’s one way to keep a conversation going, but what the fuck was he gonna ask? “Uhh, what’s your favorite color?” Fan-freaking-tastic, he went with the stupidest question ever, at least it was a classic.Eliot smiled playfully, “Triangle. Are you into guys?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this tumblr post by yeahnorightsure:
> 
> Eliot: let’s play 21 questions you start   
> Quentin: uhh whats your favorite color   
> Eliot: triangle, are you into guys
> 
> I tried...i'm sorry if it sucks lol

Quentin was still getting used to the whole idea of magic being a thing; he was in awe of Brakebills and positively riddled with anxiety about pretty much everything, but at least he had Eliot and Margo to help him out. It was nice, they were nice - well they were also kinda dickish to other people, but not him though, for some reason. They were fun and cool and smart; Quentin lucked out when Eliot ended up being the one to show him around. For other very obvious reasons, besides him being a nice friend to have. Eliot was hot. Like really hot, and everyone knew it, himself included. Quentin had eyes, and those eyes loved looking at Eliot.

 

By now the party had dwindled, Margo had gone somewhere (? Quentin didn’t pay attention, he was once again, staring at Eliot), and there was just the two of them. Sitting on the couch, legs touching, as they drank wine. Quentin knew he should be talking, about something, anything, but nope, not a thing came out.

 

Eliot touched his knee, to make him pay attention (probably, right?) and pretty much declared, “Let’s play 21 questions. You start.”

 

Well, that’s one way to keep a conversation going, but what the fuck was he gonna ask? “Uhh, what’s your favorite color?” Fan-freaking-tastic, he went with the stupidest question ever, at least it was a classic.

 

Eliot smiled playfully, “Triangle. Are you into guys?”

 

Thank God he didn’t drink any wine when Eliot asked that, ‘cause he would one hundred percent spit it all out by the suddenness of the question. His head was reeling, trying to connect all the dots to make a clear picture. It didn’t work.

 

“A triangle? What? I hm, don’t? Like, what?”

 

“Guys. Are you attracted to them?”

 

Ok, so the triangle thing didn’t matter.

 

_ Oh. _

 

The whole game was just an excuse for that.

 

Damn, he really was a dumbass. It really wasn’t his fault, when the object of his...well, lust, affection, and other words Quentin was not about to even think of right then and there, asked  _ that _ .

 

Looking right into Eliot’s eyes, Quentin shrugged, “Yeah? Was it not obvious? I didn’t think I was being very secretive with the way I looked at you.”

 

“It’s always good to make sure. But, yes, you were being very obvious.” Eliot looked pleased, invading more of Quentin’s personal space, and cupping his cheek.

 

“Uh-huh.” the bravado had faded, and mode dumbass was back on track. Quentin couldn’t bring himself to think clearly when Eliot was touching him like that, so close, looking at him so passionately.

 

“It’s your turn to ask a question.” Eliot whispered in Quentin’s ear.

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

Eliot’s gaze softened, and he smiled, “Yes, Quentin Coldwater. Fucking kiss me.”

 

He did. Something of a butterfly kiss, barely there, just a touch of soft lips. It was everything, more than he could ever ask for, and definitely not enough. Quentin didn’t have to wait long, until Eliot grabbed his neck and kissed him more deeply. Magic paled in comparison to the touch of Eliot Waugh’s lips, Quentin felt his body burn from the inside out, begging for more, more, more.

 

And then Margo returned, separating them and sitting right in their middle, with her pretend innocent smile, “So, what did I miss?”

 

Maybe it was for the better, Quentin didn’t really want to jump Eliot there, like that. He actually liked him, and didn’t want just a random hook-up. It felt weird admitting that. “Absolutely nothing. I, hm, am gonna go to sleep. ‘Night.”

 

“Sleep well, Q.” Margo said, sickly sweet.

 

“Yeah, good night, Quentin.”

 

Once Quentin was gone, Eliot elbowed Margo, “Bambi, what the fuck?”

 

“I don’t like being left out, it’s really your own fault.” at the absolute death stare he was sending her, she rolled her eyes, “Lighten up you thirsty bitch. I didn’t want you to scare the boy away, he obviously wants more than...whatever this was.”

 

“So do I.” at the realization of what he just said he fell silent.

 

“Oh, pray tell.”

 

_ Oh _ . Quentin was cute, and nerdy, and adorable. Sure. A good friend, and super lovable, as well. And the way he looked at Eliot was definitely hot. But when did it start being more than that? When did he start feeling so compelled to spend every waking hour with him? To go as far as asking him if he was into guys? So eager to please him, have him, kiss him. 

 

“Oh, look at the time. It’s so late, and  _ you _ definitely need your beauty sleep, dear. Good night, Bambi.” Eliot kissed her hand, and left.

 

“Fuck you, El. Love you.”

 

“Love you too.” he shouted, as he climbed the stairs.

 

He’d worry about his feelings another day. And maybe finish that 21 questions game, after all if the third question led to a kiss, Eliot wondered what the rest would lead to.


	2. What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all asked for more, so I'm delivering it. Enjoy it lol

Quentin couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think, couldn’t stop thinking. The softness of Eliot’s lips, the tenderness of his touch, on a loop inside of his head. Turning on his other side, he closed his eyes and tried to get his heart to, maybe, like, chill a little. It was beating out of control, and if Quentin didn’t know better, he’d assume death was approaching. But nope. Not death, but something just as dire. The small crush he’d been nursing for Eliot had grown, into...something more. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Quentin was also now super horny.  _ Great _ .

 

They were friends. And Eliot was important to him. So important.

 

Quentin just felt a pull in Eliot’s direction, something innate and unknowable. An instant connection, of sorts. It was there, simmering under his chest, from the moment they had met.

 

But sex had a tendency to ruin friendships, even if it was really good sex. Which yeah, sex with Eliot would probably be mind-blowing. But was it worth it, straining their relationship for that?

 

Even if it was (worth it) Quentin didn’t just want to fuck Eliot. It was more than that. So much more.

 

He wanted to lose himself in his eyes, until he could  _ really _ know him. Until he learned all his secrets and scars. Until they could be with each other, body and soul, as if they had known each other for fifty years.

 

Which was fucking bonkers.

 

They had barely met each other.

 

And still….

 

_ No. _

 

Turning once again on his bed, he closed his eyes as hard as he could and tried to fall asleep. It got to a point that he looked like a fucking rotisserie chicken, turning up and down, around, one side and the other, unable to stay put and sleep. His thoughts far too loud and way too many, and all of them about Eliot.

 

_ Fuck. _

 

Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed him.

 

Quentin would never play 21 questions again.

 

**XXX**

 

Quentin was sitting next to the window; feeling the warm sun on his face as he read a book, made him feel at peace. It felt good and warm, like nothing could ever hurt him - well, in that moment at least. But then Eliot was sitting in front of him smiling, and the anxiety that should be there (and was, a little) was squashed down by Eliot’s pretty face and smile. He sounded like a fucking walking cliché, for fucks sake. It was true though, and as always Quentin couldn’t bring himself to look away.

 

“So,” Eliot started, but didn’t finish.

 

Quentin waited for a few seconds, but nothing else came from Eliot’s (really beautiful and soft) mouth, “So?”

 

Eliot almost looked nervous? Which did things to Quentin, that he didn’t know possible. He felt like caressing Eliot’s face, to run his fingers through his hair, kiss the nervousness away, to lose himself in his arms. Until they both forgot how to speak.

 

Good lord, what the fuck was going on with him. Were Eliot’s lips magic? Cursed? Because that was entirely way too much, and Quentin couldn’t look away, was actually itching to go right back in for more. 

 

_ Bad Quentin, no. _

 

“So,” Eliot tried once again, “we never finished our game.”

 

Quentin swallowed dry, drumming his fingers on the book in his lap, “Right.”

 

“Bambi interrupted us and all that, but it is my belief a game should always be played till it’s completion.”

 

Remembering the night before (as if he hadn’t been replaying the moment for the last 10 hours, over and over again in his mind), Quentin blushed, and for the first time since Eliot had sat down in front of him, he looked away. Between a rock and a hard place, more like between fucking the dude he was into or masturbating in solitude while hating himself for rejecting him.

 

Or, they would just play the game normally, like two normal friends would do. Because they were friends, normal friends. Yup.

 

_ Fuck it. _

 

“Yeah, it’d be very rude of us not to finish what we started.” Quentin smiled, looking right into Eliot’s eyes. 

 

Eliot bit down on his lower lip, seemingly taking all of Quentin appreciatively, and if Quentin didn’t know better (which he didn’t, he never knew shit) it looked as if Eliot wanted to eat him alive, right there and then.

 

“My room or yours?” Eliot asked, taking his hand, ready to pull him up and take him away.

 

Quentin panicked, fire alarms screaming in his head. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t lose Eliot. No matter how much he wanted to fuck him, he couldn’t. So he said the first thing that came to mind. Something that would (hopefully) save him from that predicament, “Here?”

 

Oh, that wasn’t bad. 

 

_ Good job, brain. _

 

They couldn’t fuck right there in front of other people. Well they could, but Quentin wasn’t into that - probably. 

 

Eliot looked thoughtful for a second, but eventually nodded, “Here is good.”

 

“Who’s turn is it?”

 

“As I recall, your last question was.  _ Hmm _ . What was it again?” Eliot asked, as if he was actually trying to remember, a certain glint in his eyes, “ _ Can I kiss you? _ So, I think it’s my turn.”

 

“Yup. Yup. It’s your turn. Definitely.” he forgot. Not the kiss, never, but that he was brave enough to ask for it. The kiss was pretty much seared into his brain, the moments before it were fuzzy at best.

 

“Do you want to kiss me again?”

 

Not even trying to not go that way, great, Eliot was actively trying to murder him. Fantastic. He could always lie, but what was the fucking point? Sighing, he crossed his arms, “Yes.”

 

Eliot looked pleased, and gestured for Quentin to ask his question.

 

“Do  _ you _ want to kiss me again?”

 

“Reusing questions, Q? That’s so boring. Come on, you can do better than that.” 

 

Quentin looked at him unimpressed and just waited.

 

“Fine. Yes, obviously. Why else would I be here?”

 

“Because we’re friends? And you like hanging out with me?”

 

Eliot patted Quentin’s leg, “Of course, dear. But also, the kissing. Mostly, the kissing.”

 

“Ha. Funny. Maybe we shouldn’t finish the game after all. I’m not gonna kiss you again.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Does that count as a question, ‘cause if not I-”

 

“Yes, it counts, you little baby.”

 

“No. But I’m unsure about a lot of things, so, you’re not special.”

 

“Really? You don’t think I’m special?”

 

“Hm. I- it’s my turn to ask a question.”

 

Bringing Quentin’s hand up to his lips, Eliot kissed it tenderly, “Am I really not special?”

 

“You can’t do this. It’s not fair. Stop flashing your pretty eyes at me, stop it. You know what you’re doing, and you know you’re charming, and you know I’m interested. And it isn’t fair.” why the fuck was he saying all of that. Maybe he was right. Maybe Eliot’s lips really were cursed.

 

Eliot kissed the inside of his wrist next, and Quentin let him, didn’t even think of pulling his hand away. Losing himself in the sensation, the words spilled from him like a piñata right after getting beaten open, “Yes, you’re special. God knows why the fuck you’re special. But you are.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Eliot played with Quentin’s hand, avoiding looking at him, “You’re special too, Q.”

 

“What?”

 

“The way you look at me  _ is _ pretty obvious. But so is the way I look at you. Even though I wasn’t aware of it until yesterday.”

 

“ _ What? _ ” Quentin asked again, unable to process Eliot’s words.

 

“I don’t want this between us to just be a game.  _ I think _ . I mean, I’m pretty sure. I just...want you. And you obviously want me. So why are we dancing around each other?”

 

Quentin opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, when Eliot stopped him, “If you ask what, again, I’ll shut you up.”

 

“With a kiss?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Knowing what he had to do, to get the ball rolling, Quentin pulled Eliot even nearer and whispered in his ear, “What?” 

 

Eliot went willingly, his hand finding its way onto Quentin’s neck, as he kissed his lips softly.

 

Quentin left the overthinking for another day, and chose to lose himself in the moment instead. He had time to figure out whatever the fuck was going on, afterwards. For now there was Eliot. And there was him. And they were together. Fuck the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also kickassfu on tumblr~~


End file.
